


Therapy Session:  Steven Grant Rogers

by debwalsh



Series: Take Up Your Shield and Follow Me [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Closure, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is in the Tower, recovering from his time as the Winter Soldier.  But something has robbed him of language, and no one can communicate with him through words.  And there are so many words unspoken between Bucky and Steve.</p><p>While in a therapy session with the Tower psychiatrist Dr. Anastasia Jorgenson, a decades old trauma is finally revealed.  Can Steve find closure and finally let the past go?  </p><p>You really need to read at least <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1799341">Different Points of View</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1964664">Case Notes</a> before you read this.  There will be a separate therapy session story for Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy Session:  Steven Grant Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, another chapter! This has been percolating nearly a year, and I'm happy to finally have it ready to share. Remember that this is part of a larger story - do read the stories I've bookmarked in the summary first, or this won't make any sense at all. And yes, there is more to come.

In order to treat Bucky _in situ_ , there were therapists and specialists traipsing through Stark Tower on a regular basis, but they would never be there 24/7.  So Steve and the Avengers – mostly Steve, since the rule of “you bring it home, you paper train it and clean up after it” applied here – all had to meet with various specialists and therapists to get trained on the do’s, don’t’s, and hell-no-you’d-never-do-that’s.    In other words, the care and feeding of a recovering Winter Soldier.

And every therapist and specialist always repeated instructions, asked Steve to repeat back what he’d been told, and asked if he’s got that, or if he can handle it, or will he remember that, etc.  Finally, Steve’d had enough.  Yes, even Steve Rogers could reach the end of his Olympian patience.

“Look, I know that everyone in the Avengers thinks of me as their idiot cousin from Paramus.  Frozen brain, old-fashioned conservatism, sexless, and without a clue. Don’t disagree – between Tony’s teasing and Natasha’s matchmaking, it’s obvious how they all think about me.

“But they’re wrong.  I ain’t an idiot, and I sure ain’t from Paramus.  But I was always a smart guy – not first in my class, but right up there.  Valedictorian was the only person in our class less popular’n me.  Thing is, I probably could’ve avoided a lotta fights with big lugs over the years if I’d been willing to do the big lug’s homework.  But cheating wasn’t right then, and it ain’t right now. Not bullying, or ridicule, or shovin’ people around. Yeah, I had a whole lotta reasons for getting into fights back in the day. 

“But the serum?  That didn’t just enhance my body.  It enhanced my brain, too.  I can analyze information faster, see patterns quicker, plan strategy more efficiently. I can remember things.  I can remember what I had for breakfast on December 21, 1942.  I can tell you the name and hometown of every boy and girl who danced in my USO show, which ones kissed the best, and which ones cried at night missing their families. 

“I can’t forget the look on Bucky’s face when he fell from the train into that ravine.  I probably could triangulate and calculate the distance he fell from memory, but I would never wanna do that. 

“I can’t help but remember.  The serum gave me an eidetic memory and then some.  So, can I remember some instructions, in the right order?  Pretty sure I got that.  Remembering is easy.  It’s forgetting that’s impossible.

“And as for handling stuff?  I’m not fragile, and I’m no porcelain doll.  No matter what Tony Stark thinks or says.  I survived the Depression, losing both my parents, more near-death experiences than you’ve had hot lunches,” he added pointedly, glancing at the therapist’s rail-thin physique, “had last rites, it was still called Extreme Unction then, five separate times, all before I was 20. 

“Not to mention having my body taken apart down to the cellular level and my bones ground to dust to make this – hurt like a _sonofabitch_ ,” he waved impatiently at his body.  “I hit puberty at 24, and it hit me like a Panzer tank,” he added with a small smile. “I’ve planned and executed more successful military campaigns against Hydra and the Nazis than any other military commander in the War – I checked.  I set fucking records. And let’s not forget the Chitauri.  I won’t ever be able to forget the Chitauri.  If you can, you’re luckier than I am.

“And if you’re concerned about me projecting on him, pushing my agenda on him, you can forget that too.  I’m used to putting my own needs behind the needs of the mission.  The mission always comes _first_.  And now, my mission is to help Bucky recover, whatever that means.  So, whatever he needs, that’s the mission, and that takes precedence over anything I need. 

“So, if you’re questioning if I can remember, if I can follow instructions, if I can be observant and recognize the triggers and tells and do what I can to head off an attack before it starts, call for help if that’s the right thing, or hold him and speak softly if it’s not, and if I can cope, the answer is _hell yeah_.  I’m playing the long game, and I’m in this ‘til … well, I’m in it to win it,” he concluded, not falling back on that phrase that had meant so much to him and Buck.  But it was true.  He _was_ in this to win this.

Dr. Jorgenson leaned back in her seat and considered him in silence for a long moment before setting down her pen and pushing her pad away. She smiled at him, an encouraging, possibly even sincere smile. Settling back into her seat, she responded, "Well, Captain Rogers, thank you.  That helps a lot.  But if I may ... if the serum enhanced your brain as you say, why is it that you still struggle with modern technology?"

Steve looked at her quizzically, then huffed a laugh, smiling into a chuckle.  "I don't struggle.  I use technology when it’s useful. It’s not that I don't like it.  I’m just not addicted to it. It does all kinds of amazing things, but people spend so much time on their tablets and their phones and their laptops and everything, they've lost the fine art of conversation.  Look at you," he nodded toward her fingers that twitched ever so slightly.  "You can't wait to get back to it, and yet you're sitting here talking to me.  Am I not interesting?  Do you not have a responsibility to be 'in the moment' with me now?"

"Well, I -"

"Plus, it really pisses Tony Stark off.  That's a bonus."  His smile grew incandescent.  "Guy's gotta have a hobby."

Steve settled back in his chair and grinned at the surprised – and wholly genuine – laugh that elicited from the Doc. 

“You like pissing Tony Stark off?”

“I like making him think. Making him wonder. He’s a lot like his Dad, more than he realizes, I think. Howard could be a good guy, when he wanted to be. He had to think about it, had to actually choose to be a good guy, really. Tony … well, Tony comes by it more naturally. Must get it from his mother, God rest her soul. But he still has Howard’s ego.”

“So pretending not to understand technology makes him think, how?”

“He’s always surprised that someone can survive in this day and age without all the tech literally at his fingertips. I like to make him question that. ‘Cos let’s face it, technology only takes us so far. The rest of the way? That’s us, humans. People. When you take people out and leave only technology in, it’s all too easy to think yourself a god. I’m not talkin’ about Thor – if anything, he’s learned to be more humble in his time with us. Just a regular guy, only built super-size. But when you have unlimited resources and technology, and no one calling you on your shit … well. It’s easy to drop people from the equation. Forget they matter.”

“People. You identify with people. You don’t consider yourself … well, above them, different from them –“

“You mean because of the serum? What I can do? The ways it changed me?” Steve paused for a moment, the amused and affectionate tone of Abraham Erskine’s voice echoing in his memory. He shook his head. “The serum enhances what’s already there. Makes you more of what you were. It fixed all the things about me that were broken, but inside, it just made me … well, it made me more _me_.”

A flash of smile again, an arched eyebrow. Steve knew the dance. Erskine’s claims were part of the public record about him. The “good man becomes great” speech. What Schmidt became as a result of the serum.

She surprised him by saying something out of left field. “I suppose we should assume, then, that the serum that Dr. Banner developed was not really based on Erskine’s serum.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Erskine’s serum enhances, exaggerates what’s in the subject to start with … do you really think that Bruce Banner already had the monster inside him?”

“We all have a monster inside of us, Doc. Most of the time it’s a choice whether or not we let it out. Serum took away Bruce’s choice. Doesn’t make him any less of a good man.”

“And how does that work with Barnes?” 

“Buck was always a good man,” Steve replied tersely. He wasn’t sure he liked the direction this line of inquiry was following. “ _Always_.”

“So impassioned. I have no opinion either way – Sergeant Barnes is a patient, professionally I cannot make any value judgments regarding whether or not he’s a good man. But you seem to feel you need to convince me. Why?”

“So many people think it was him. That he was the Winter Soldier. That they couldn’t force him to do the things he did, that he was willing. That the darkness was always there in him. They’re wrong. James Buchanan Barnes is a good man. The Winter Soldier, the Asset – it’s what _they_ made him. It wasn’t Bucky. It was _never_ Bucky.” He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hand over his face, sighing. “We’ve been over this, Doc. How many more times?”

She was silent for a long time before she answered, her voice carefully modulated, calm, “I don’t question that you care about your friend, Steve. But there is always something … lurking … behind your words, your concern. I know that morality is something that is defined within the time, but you do know that times have changed, right?”

Steve stared at her, brows drawn up tight. “The whole world has changed. The only thing I recognize is … nothing,” he said softly.

“Nothing.”

“Not even my own face. My hands, maybe, they didn’t get much bigger. Just stronger. My, um, well. Not _everything_ got bigger. Didn’t need to,” he added with a shy grin, looking up at her through his long lashes.

She didn’t react to his innuendo; he didn’t expect her to, even though it had to surprise her – everyone still thought he was a clueless virgin, after all. “So you don’t recognize Bucky. James. Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve frowned, his eyes sliding off her face to stare into the middle distance. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then shook his head. “I call him Bucky. Always have. You know that. It’s what I’ve called him since we were kids.” She nodded for him to continue, to get serious. “But yeah. We’ve both changed. Older. Scarred. Survived. Been through a war or two, haven’t we?” he chuckled darkly. “The things they did to him … so yeah, he looks different, yeah. And he’s changed. So have I. I don’t look like I did. That’s what happens when you’re a lab rat. I can’t talk to him – well, I do talk to him, but he can’t answer. Not in words. I mean, words I can understand. Yeah, I guess that hasn’t changed. We can still communicate without words. Commandos thought it was hoodoo, the way we could plan a campaign, execute it, take down Hydra, all without speaking a single word.”

“You’re quite adept at non-verbal communication.”

Steve nodded slowly, considering.

“So you’ve been getting by, the two of you. Nightmares?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes him. Sometimes me. I’m guessing they never go away.”

“Maybe not completely. But we can hope they aren’t as frequent, aren’t as … upsetting. And you cope, how?”

“Sorry?”

“How do you cope with the nightmares? What’s your strategy?”

“Um, whose?”

“Let’s start with yours.”

“Oh. Well, Bruce taught me some breathing exercises, kinda remind me of when I had asthma, counting breaths, focusing on steadying my heart rate. Focus. You know – on the now. Jarvis helps. He’s trained to talk Tony through his episodes if Pepper’s not there. He does the same for me.”

“And where is … Bucky in all this?”

Steve frowned. “Well, sometimes he’s right there.”

“In your bed.”

“Yes. Sometimes … sometimes he comes into my room. Not always, but sometimes. Sometimes before I go to sleep, sometimes after. Can’t ask him why, but I like to think maybe he’s remembering.”

“Remembering.”

“That we used to share a bed when we were young, especially in the cold.”

“And how’s the sex?”

Steve felt as though his heart stopped, his lungs closed off, and the air was sucked out of the room, leaving him in an airless, soundless void.

“The, uh, the _what_?”

“The _sex_. How is it?”

“There is no sex.”

“Steve, as I noted earlier, times have changed. Homosexuality is no longer considered deviant behavior. It’s accepted, legal. You and Bucky could marry here in the state of New York. But as your therapist, as Bucky’s therapist, this is an area I feel we need to discuss.”

“There is no sex.”

“Steve, if you can’t be honest with me, I don’t see how –“

“There. Is. No. Sex.” He felt his blood pressure rising in time with the panic bubbling up through his blood. It didn’t matter that it was legal. It didn’t. 

What mattered was it was Bucky. Bucky who rejected him all those years ago. Bucky who left and never said another word about what they’d been to each other. Just ended it, period. Bucky who’d … no. He wasn’t going there.

But Dr. Jorgenson wasn’t letting it go. She sat forward at her desk and fixed him with a probing gaze. “Steve, tell me how you feel about Bucky. The way he looks at you, I thought sure you were involved.”

“No.”

“Steve.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I think he might be. The way the two of you move around each other, the way he watches you, reacts to your presence. I know he can’t articulate this in words you can understand, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of granting consent –“ 

“He’s not like that. Not –“

“Not what, Steve? Talk to me. This is clearly something that upsets you – we have an opportunity here to help you address your concerns. And if Bucky is truly interested as I suspect, perhaps that could be good for you, too. That is, assuming you’d be interested.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s never mattered. It’s what he wants, and even if he’s interested now, he won’t be. Not when he’s better. Not when he’s himself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. He’s not like that.” 

“He’s not like that. But you are?” 

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m bi-sexual, yes. But I wouldn’t – not with someone who –“ 

“What if this is really what he wants? You can’t really ask him and get a verbal answer right now, can you?” 

“No.” 

“But you are remarkably adept at communicating with him without words. Would you trust what he has to say then?” 

_“He’s not like that.”_

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” 

She continued to press, each refusal solidifying her intent to adamantine resolve. Finally, Steve gave in and told her about the relationship he’d shared with Bucky back in the 1930s and early ‘40s, before Bucky’d gone to war. Before the morning when Bucky’d simply left their apartment, their bed, and never spoke of what they’d shared again. As if it had never happened. As if it had never mattered. As if _he_ had never mattered.

Dr. Jorgenson sat back in her seat with a huff, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Steve, I’m sorry. I had no idea. But you know if you never examine these events, they continue to have control over you, continue to influence you. You _give_ them control.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. It … well, it wasn’t like we were going to have the white picket fence and the neighbors over for dinner on Saturday nights, was it? Not like there was a future. We’d have to give it all up eventually anyway …”

“No, I recognize that homosexuality was illegal at the time. But how did it make you feel, Bucky’s reaction? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, Steve. Tell me the truth.”

Steve wanted to leave, right now. He wanted to rip the door off its hinges, toss it aside, and run. Run and run and run and run … escape the images in his head, the feelings welling up in his heart, the acid churning his gut. The cold sweat that prickled along every inch of skin, crawling with unseen energy.

“Steve, I need you to breathe for me. Count with me, okay? One-one-hundred. Two-one-hundred. Three –“

He realized with a start that he’d slipped into the beginnings of a panic attack, heart jittering in his chest, blood thundering past his ears, pressure building up to the point where even his metabolism couldn’t contain it.

She’d come around the desk, was kneeling next to his chair now, her thin, ascetic hands gently stroking his as his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. He was vaguely aware of splinters, of the armrests crumbling in his grip, falling away as his breathing continued to gasp and shudder. He could hear her voice, speaking gently to him, measured, ordered, counting, counting, counting …

It had been seven years in Steve’s subjective time, over 70 in time measured by calendars and clocks. He’d changed, he’d loved others, he’d fought a war, and faced an enemy not of this world. He’d fought beside Bucky for nearly two years, brothers in arms, the past an unspoken, unacknowledged thing they’d set aside to get through the war. Maybe they never would have mentioned it again if they’d both lived through the ‘40s into the next decades. Maybe in time, the pain would have subsided to a dull ache, and then forgotten as he’d explored love with Peggy Carter, and Buck had found himself a nice girl to settle down with.

But that’s not what happened.

The words came out slowly, haltingly, painfully. His voice was reedy and thin, throat raw from his attack, from the dearth of oxygen, from the panic and the fear.

She sat down on the floor next to him, her hands resting gently on his, her face tilted up to him in an open, encouraging, non-threatening expression.

But she did threaten him. She demanded the truth. The truth he’d buried deep in his heart.

He dug it out and held it up to the light, bleeding.

“We were together, before the war. Lovers. I wasn’t always able … my heart, my asthma, sometimes they wouldn’t let me, well. I couldn’t get it up, or couldn’t keep it up. But when I could, we’d … we’d have sex. I loved him. I’d do anything for him. I thought he loved me. And then something changed. I never knew what. He wouldn’t talk about it.”

Her hands tightened over his, fingers slipping under his palms to squeeze gently, reassuringly.

“And then one night …” He swallowed hard, blinking at the hot, salty tears that burned at the corners of his eyes. “The next morning, he, ah … he just left. Before I woke up. He was gone all day. It was his day off, we’d made plans to go to the pictures, but he didn’t come back all day. Or that night. Or the next. He stayed away for three days. Found out later he dossed down at his folks’ place. Then Monday night, he came back, acted like he hadn’t disappeared for three days. Like nothing had ever happened. Ever. Like everything we’d been to each other was meaningless.”

The tears were running down his cheeks now, and he breathed through the pain, the coiling self-loathing that weighed him down, threatened to drag him under.

“Was he angry? Frightened?” she prompted.

“No. No, like nothing had happened. Best pals. Never lovers. Literally like none of it had ever happened. I kinda wondered if maybe I’d dreamed it all. Made it all up in a fever dream. But I knew I hadn’t. I knew it was real. _I knew_.” He sighed deeply, slumping down in the seat. With an effort, he peeled his fingers off the armrests, glanced at her as she removed her hands, and gave her a small smile. He looked down at his palms and saw the splinters there, the depression of the armrests and the weave of the fabric embedded in his hands. He started to methodically pick out the splinters, releasing tiny spots of blood in his palms that disappeared as quickly as they formed.

“And you? How did you feel?”

“Felt used. Tossed aside. I’ve tried to shake it off, put it behind me. I’ve had other relationships, during the USO. I’d hoped for one with Peggy. God knows I love her as much as I ever loved Bucky.” He reached across her desk and snagged a tissue, blotted at the blood spots on his hands.

“As much. Not more?”

He shook his head. “Maybe, if I’m being honest with myself, not quite as much.”

Her hand slid over his forearm then, sympathetic, caring. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“How could you? No one knew but me. I don’t even know what he remembers, so maybe it really is just me. I just know that now he’s back, sometimes when he looks at me, I’m back in that apartment. Small, unloved, used like a two-bit whore. I know he looks at me like he wants me. But it’s not real. He’s not really interested. It’s just some echo of feeling, a memory of what we were, what we had, reverberating through the empty halls of Bucky’s damaged mind.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I suggested that you should allow yourself a relationship with Barnes. I would never want to put someone at risk in the hands of an abuser.” 

He looked up sharply at that. “No, it wasn’t like that – he just – he just ended it, that’s all. Tore the bandage off in one fell swoop. I –“

“Wasn’t homosexuality a crime at the time?”

“Yeah. If you got caught, it was prison or worse. If you were lucky you made it to the jail. You might even survive the night.”

“Couldn’t he have been trying to protect you?” 

“Then why’d he come home falling down drunk and want to have sex?” 

“Why do you think?” 

“I was pathetic. I was an easy lay. He knew I’d never turn him down.” 

“Maybe it’s because he cared too much.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Maybe he could only take so much until he couldn’t take it anymore. I’m not saying it was right – clearly it wasn’t. But maybe you need to listen a little more and see what you really hear, without the fear. At least try to find some peace about this, if nothing else. You’ve been carrying this pain around with you for a very long time. Isn’t it time to find a way to let it go? For yourself, if nothing else.”

“Is it?” he asked softly, eyes wide. “Can I?” he added with a faint shake of his head.

“Aren’t you worth it, Steve? Aren’t you worth salvaging? Don’t you deserve peace?”

_Is he the kind you save? Or is he the kind you stop?_

“You have the tools, Steve. Even if you can’t share words, you share so much more. You communicate in so many ways that don’t require words. You need to find closure. And maybe once you do, both of you can start healing.”

He nodded slowly. 

_They were both the kind you save._

**Author's Note:**

> So, one step more along the recovery curve for Steve. Can he and Bucky finally find peace together?
> 
> I hope to get Bucky's therapy session finalized and posted tomorrow. Stick with me! And I would love to read your comments, please!


End file.
